I Have Sensation
by predaking50ae
Summary: Compilation of one-shots and microfics. Ships will consist almost entirely of John/Cameron. The mood lightens after the first few stories.
1. Love Lost

**Love Lost**

While John mourns the passing of his mother, Cameron gives him the strength to go on. Takes place after 'Born to Run'.

With his eyes closed, John listens to the rain landing on the canopy overhead, and feels a heavy mist cooling his face from all directions. It reminds him of the rainforest. Of being there with his mother. He had hated it, and nearly hated his mother. He had wondered at the time if the training was his punishment for what he would one day do.

Now, he'd happily go through it all over again- if it meant being with his mother.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at the piece of metal in his hand. It has been faithful to him these past months. No, these past years. It really has been years.

He holds something that his mother never wanted him rely on- let alone need.

Cameron.

What's left of her, at least. A warped, misshapen finger, with a blackened band fused to it, and a diamond, cracked and crumbling from the intense heat that consumed her.

"I don't feel sorry for myself anymore," he tells the piece of scrap, "I feel sorry for everyone else."

"I know where you came from- where you will come from -and I'll find you again. We'll be together, someday. I know that now."

"Derek told me that everyone dies for me, but you were right, Cameron. You were right when you said that I live for everyone else."

"It's not what you meant, but I'm empty. A vessel for everyone else's ideas after they die. They take bullets for me, they blow themselves up for me, but they're really doing it for themselves. So their ideas and their hopes can live on by forcing me to carry them. Everyone except for you two- mom, Cameron."

"Especially you, Cameron. You had another choice. You didn't have to return to me, you could have stayed with your own kind. We only had a few years, but you taught me enough about John Connor to know that this isn't my fault. That none of this is anyone's fault- not even Skynet's."

He places the metal to his cheek, against the scar he received when his plasma rifle exploded. He remembers clawing at the ground like an animal, trying to get close enough to the weapon for it to kill him, but only getting close enough for a flying piece of the receiver to scar his face.

"The day you died, I lost it. I started killing everything in sight, and I didn't care that my rifle was overheating. If it weren't for Kyle and Bedell, I'd be dead... and I hated them for that. For not letting me die."

The image of his lover's body being vaporized by high yield plasma flashes before his eyes.

"Thank you. Thank you so much... for everything you gave me."

Tears finally flow freely with the memory of his 21st birthday in 2028- 45 years after his birth. Cameron finally got him a cake.

He laughs, remembering how awful it tasted. He thinks that she might have made it with pigeon eggs and dog's milk, but it was still the best birthday he'd ever had. It was the first time since the jump that the guilt of leaving his mother wasn't crippling.

"I miss you... I miss you so much..."

He grew up in the future. He grew up with Cameron. He learned why his mother gave him body armor for his birthday. It was what he needed, and what she wanted him to have. He learned in the future why his mother had pushed him so hard. He went to the future alone, but he felt her every time he fought. Every time he squeezed a trigger, he could feel his mother's finger curling around his own.

He came back alone, but every time he wakes up, he feels Cameron beside him. Every front for Kaliba he burns, he feels her behind him. Feels her smiling so faintly that only he can see it. And as he watched his mother die slowly, he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you... I love you both."


	2. Malfunction

**Malfunction**

Takes place the night before Cameron breaks Sarah out of prison.

I allow a quiet pitter patter as I walk barefoot across the motel room floor, fearing that John may become angry were I to surprise him.

It does not matter. He is angry anyway. He shouts at me, "Stop staring at me like that!"

I divert my gaze. "I am sorry for your loss."

He glares at me, though I see something else in his eyes that I do not recognize. I see it every time I talk to him. It isn't anger, or hate, but he has not shown me enough of this emotion for me to identify it.

"_Why_ are you sorry?" he challenges.

I can not admit to him that I am not. I can not admit to him _why_ I am not. I did not know Charley, and he was a security risk. I knew Derek, but he was cruel, and a bad influence on John. Had he been able to infect John with his bigotry, more machines would have gone bad in the future... and one may have been pushed too far in the present.

"Derek was one of your best men. He was a valuable resource-" John begins leaving the room, but I do not attempt to stop him, "-possessing vast amounts of combat experience, tactical knowledge, and strong leadership skills. These could have aided you in becoming who you need to be."

He enters the bathroom, slamming the door as I try to follow. Data given to me by Skynet tells me of ways to manipulate him, but it is wrong. It is what I did when I went bad, and when I tried to separate him from Riley.

I refuse to do that to him again.

"I _am_ sorry, John." For reasons I can not explain, I find myself leaning my forehead against the door.

My voice becomes a whisper, though it is unintentional, "I don't know what to say..." An unknown sound escapes my lips, and my vision blurs.

I seem to be malfunctioning.

John will burn me if he finds out, and I am needed.

I retreat quickly into the darkness.


	3. Object of Affection

**Object of Affection**

Within the dilapidated structure, the only sound comes from rainwater leaking through the element ravaged roof. The windows have all been broken and boarded up. It's like being in a wooden crate with no lid, but it is quiet and peaceful.

The silence is broken by the screech of nails being torn from humidity swollen wood as the door is pushed in. A young girl supports the weight of a young man, while his head hangs limp, and his feet drag uselessly. Though he looks to be nearly half again her weight, she does not strain in the least.

She carefully lowers him onto a filthy, mildew ridden seat, torn from some long forgotten vehicle.

"John, your injuries are minor." His only response is a quiet groan. "This is going to hurt." Again, he just groans.

When the girl gives his left hand a gentle squeeze, he comes back to reality, and looks into her eyes with surprise, then misty eyed relief. "Cameron?" The girl places her other hand on his chest, over his heart, and he smiles at her with unfettered love. "Cam, I've waited for-" He screams when she pulls hard, reducing his dislocated shoulder. She takes her hands from him, and he looks down at where they had been. "I didn't realize my should-"

"Many people don't," she states emotionlessly. Her delicate hand comes to rest on his thigh, and he shakes his head emphatically. "It has to be done."

"No, you need tools! No! Don't! NO!" He grips her wrist with both hands, and she responds by gripping both of his wrists with one hand, pushing his hands against his stomach, and leaving him unable to protect himself. "NO! PLEASE!"

The bullet wound is tiny- too small even to accomidate a straw or a pencil -but the girl forces her thumb and forefinger into the channel. He should pass out- it would be for the best -but he doesn't. His screams are ear splitting as his flesh tears around her fingers. The sharp edges of the bullet's copper jacket snags, cuts, and scrapes as she pulls it back out the way it came.

He screams long after it is over, long after she has bandaged his leg with a piece of her shirt. "I'm sorry."

What ever sounds this agonized young man wishes to make, he instead forces out, "It's... okay... I... unders...tand."

She moves to sit beside him, and puts her arm around his shoulders. This time his surprise is greater than before, and she is aware of the questioning look she is being given, but not the barely restrained hopefulness. "You've lost a lot of blood. It's cold out."

He laughs quietly, then his laughter becomes louder until he is unable to breathe. She joins him, but it's meaningless to her. When he hears her laughter, his own slowly changes pitch until it is replaced with wails.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, sobbing because every hint has been a lie. He squeezes her tightly, seeking comfort from the 'person' he knows will never care for him as he does for her.

He cries harder when she starts to 'soothingly' rub his arm and 'lovingly' stroke his hair. It means nothing to her, and he knows it. She's trying to keep him warm and quiet. Nothing more.

She acts and looks real. She sounds and feels real. She even smells and tastes real... but she's not. She's not, and he'd give anything to make her real. Even if it were only for a day, he'd trade everything for it. For her. He'd throw everything away to have her return his affection just once.

He has spent one quarter of his life jealously hoarding each tender moment, hanging on her every word, and making room for every show of affection by pushing aside thoughts and memories of his lost loved ones- his mother, father, would-be father, his uncle, and the only two girls who have ever loved him. After filling his heart with her until there was room for nothing else, he learned that none of it had been real.

He's just an objective, and she feels nothing for him.

She's just an object, and he feels everything for her.


	4. Better Than Tears

**Better Than Tears**

I have no choice. I take a step toward John. He reaches into his pocket. I take another step, and he reveals the detonator I gave to him. It can stop me. It is a threat to my mission. I _must_ kill him before he presses the three buttons sequentially.

"Please don't," he pleads with me.

As I reach for his throat, I see that I have been damaged. My hand and forearm are exposed from my confrontation with Sarah, and two of the rods articulating my fingers have been disconnected. It is... hideous. _I_ am hideous.

"Cameron, please!"

Even knowing what I am, he does not wish me destroyed.

[Termination Override]

I am a threat to John. He cares too much. I _must_ be destroyed.

I hear Sarah enter behind me. She is late. "Get away from my son!"

My cranial armor is struck by Sarah's gunfire. M855. Military ball. It can not harm me.

[Primary Mission: Protect John Connor]

Yes, I must protect him. I make myself an easy target as I stride toward her, then I slap the M4A1 from her grasp, and grip her by the throat. John does not kill me. I need him to. I... want... him to be safe. I want... I am unsure of what I want. To protect him? Yes. To stay with him? I... should not. I am a threat to him.

I remember his reaction to my ploy on his birthday. I know what I must do.

I hold Sarah aloft and apply pressure until she can only gurgle.

"John... I'm fixed now, I ran a test!"

I can see that his legs nearly give out, but he makes no move to kill me.

Still careful not to damage his mother, I keep her silent.

"I don't want to go!"

With tears in his eyes, he presses the first black button.

"Everything is perfect! I'm perfect!" I wish it were true. If it were, then I could stay with- I could _protect_ him.

He presses the second, and to strengthen his resolve, I allow his mother to speak.

"She's lying!"

As his thumb hovers over the red button, my vision blurs and I feel moisture on my cheeks. The damage to my chip must be worse than I had believed.

"I love you!"

Through my blurred vision, I watch him brush the red switch.

"I love you, John, and you love me!"

My audio receptors allow me to hear his teeth as they grinding together with enough force to chip several of his molars.

Sarah starts to speak, but I clamp my hand down tightly around her throat. She has said enough, and I need to convince John that his mother will die if he does not destroy me.

She tries to scream, and I know that she is telling him to run, or at least to look away.

John's thumb tenses, and the resignation I see in his eyes reminds me of the John I used to know. He now understands what he must do.

"No, John!" I scream, "Stop!"

I am too late. He snaps the locket shut, and charges at me. His feeble human limbs wrap around my body, but he is not attempting to fight me. He is pleading with me to come back to him. Pleading with me to kill him. He is begging. He is crying. He is... hugging me.

_John Connor_ is begging. _John Connor_ is crying. _John Connor_ is... touching me.

John Connor does not beg, or cry, or make physical contact with my kind... except for our chips. His behavior... distresses me. He is not John Connor right now.

Sarah is too weak to stand, so I place her against the wall and gently lower her into a sitting position.

I continue to study John. I do not understand him as well as I had thought.

"I love you," he whispers into my torn, blood soaked sweatshirt.

I place my undamaged hand on the center of his back. I am not sure why, but it seems like something I should do.

"I'm sorry, John. I have to go away, now."

I push him back and begin walking down the hall. Derek will help me. I do not like him. He betrayed John's location instead of killing himself. Still, he would die for this John, even if he was unwilling to in the future.

My sensors tell me that I am off balance, and the sheetrock wall dents as my shoulder hits it. I turn to my attacker, but it is not Sarah. John's arms are once more around me.

"No!" he screams.

He does not wish for me to leave.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, then take another step since there is nothing he can do to stop me.

I lose my balance again as he fights gravity instead of my hydraulics.

"I order you not to go!"

This does not make sense. He knows that I do not take orders from him. This time I shove him, and he hits the wall hard enough to momentarily paralyze his diaphram.

"I don't take orders from you," I tell him.

I make it to the end of the hallway before he regains his ability to breathe, and his sneakers squeak on the wooden floor. I turn in time to see the look on his face as his fragile endoskeleton challenges my more resilient metal one. It is a look of desperation, rage, betrayal, and sorrow.

"You're not going!"

I place my hands on his shoulders and hold him at arms' length.

"I have to, John."

He starts pushing against me, trying to get closer, but he can not.

"No! You don't get to say things like that and just leave!"

John's foot hits high on my breastplate. I was not prepared for a blow from such an angle, and must remove my hands from him to regain my balance. When I do, his arms wrap around me again.

"I love you, Cameron!"

Sarah has recovered, but has not intervened. I take the locket from John, throw it to her, and offer verbal instructions on its use. She tells me that she has wanted to destroy me since 1999, but that I have sunk my metal claws too deeply into her son.

He is not John Connor now, and it is my fault. I must protect John Connor, and to do that, I must identify and repair the damage that I have caused. Then I will go.

I inform him of my intentions, and he presses his lips against my cheek.

His lips feel... better than tears.


	5. Blissful Ignorance

**Blissful Ignorance**

John's eyes flutter open. He's in a hospital, and has a tube jammed down his throat, which he prompty removes.

His eyes fall shut again, and voice is hoarse. "Mom?"

"She's resting," Cameron's voice says quietly. No, _submissively_. Like she's afraid of him. She's never sounded this way before...

"Are you okay?"

There's a long pause, then Cameron answers. "I am... okay... but I am not one hundred percent."

John's eyes open wide. "What? What does that mean?"

Her head tilts. "There is physical damage to my chip."

"Your... When? How? What can we do? Will it get worse?"

"Your birthday, a car bomb, you already did everything that can be done, and I don't know."

It takes him several seconds to sift through her sentence for the answers she has given him.

"I don't remember any of that."

There is a long silence, then Cameron tentatively asks, "Would you like me to come closer?"

"Yes, I would." She quickly takes a seat beside his bed, and John can see a slight curl on the corners of her lips. "What?"

"You haven't wanted me around lately."

His head pounds. "Wha...? I don't understand. I've been in the hospital since the car bomb, right?"

"No. It's December, twenty-oh-eight. You are seventeen, now." Her face falls, and she immediately removes all emotion from it. "You have a girlfriend. She has been with you for over a year."

John's mouth somehow becomes even drier. When he reaches out for her to take his hand, Cameron simply stares at it. "I'm sorry that I don't remember any of it."

She slowly touches her fingertips to his palm, as though expecting it to be electrified. Finding that it isn't, she holds it tightly- _possessively_ -and smiles. "I'm not."

Her response hurts and confuses him. "What do you mean? I can't remember the last year."

Looking down at the delicate human hand within her grasp, she watches its thumb stroke the back of hers. "You're back where you're supposed to be."

Trying to move, he winces as pain shoots through his side, and he sees Cameron adjust his morphine drip. He hadn't noticed the drugs. "What happened?"

"We were running again," she says softly. "There were terminators-"

"More than one?"

Her head tilts. "More than two. You were driving." Her hand tightens slightly around his. "You had been shot, but you didn't tell me. You lost consciousness while I was distracted by our pursuers. Our car hit the median, and we rolled twenty-one times."

"You brought me here? Saved my life?" She doesn't answer. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I'm just a machine."

"I can't remember the last year, but my feelings haven't changed." He squeezes her hand. "I still love you."

A frantic blonde girl comes into the room. "John?!" In an instant, the girl is draped over his chest, hugging him tightly.

When he looks to Cameron for help, she offers it by releasing his hand and standing. "That's your girlfriend." She walks to the door, then stops and turns back. "She's not right for you."


	6. Find Her, Keep Her

**Find Her, Keep Her**

This daylong game of cat and mouse is wearing on him, but there isn't time to stop looking for her or this 'Jody' she's been seen with.

Everyone is waiting for an excuse to burn her, and she's just handed them one. Even _if_ he can find her, he doesn't know if he'll be able to fix her.

As he passes a small outdoor cafe, he sees a blond teenage girl sitting alone at one of the tables. It's not much, but it's all he has to go on.

The chair opposite her is askew, and what must be a second person's meal sits almost untouched.

The girl doesn't even try to disguise her disreputable and conspiratorial nature.

Her eyes track every purse, back pocket, and piece of jewelery in an absent search for marks, and she smiles to herself as she imagines getting her hands on them. To him, it's obvious that she has already found- and possibly lost -something big enough to keep her from making a move for the time being.

She soon notices him, and a conceited smirk tells him that he's the sort of target she usually looks for. A hint of fear seeps into her eyes when she realizes that he's coming directly toward her.

Now it comes down to her confidence in her own abilities. If she thinks that he's a forgotten victim of one of her cons, she'll bolt unless she's certain that she can talk her way out of it.

If circumstances were different, he'd enjoy beating her at her own game, but he doesn't have the time or the interest at the moment.

Professional courtesy is the route he chooses. Taking a seat across from her without making a scene, he blends in perfectly, and speaks before she can decide whether to be scared or confused. "I need to get a tattoo removed."

She goes with confusion. "Excuse me?"

"I thought you might know a good place. Since you've had it done before."

"I don't have-"

"Advertising is bad for business, but we both know that you're wearing at least one sponsor's logo."

"You son o-" she's cut off.

"I'm sure that you've tried to start something real, but you keep going back to your old ways. You fall for a guy and everything's great... until you can't control yourself anymore. You make off with something of his. You start small- cash, a watch, an iPod, something easily lost -then he wakes up one day and his stereo's gone. You keep trying, but you can't stop."

The truth hurts, but it's obvious that that's not why he's here. He's like her, and he'll leave when he gets what he's looking for. "What do you want?"

He lifts from the table a crude sketch that is obviously the girl's own handiwork. "Brunette, 5' 6", 120." Her eyes reflexively dart over his left shoulder. "Thank you." He stands and starts heading down the sidewalk.

"Hey," Jody calls. "Who is she?"

He doesn't look back answer. "Someone who shouldn't be around people like us."

As the minutes pass, so too does a phone booth- a rarity -followed soon by confused and concerned bystanders, talking amongst themselves about a recent passerby.

Though he can't make out their words, he doesn't have to. The the quiet discourse turns to hushed whispers, then to silent and disbelieving stares, telling him that he's getting close.

All he can do now is hope that _she_ isn't hunting _him_.

A small playground across the street catches him by surprise as he rounds a corner. It almost seems hidden, and that's the only reason that he pays it any mind.

He returns his eyes to scanning the faces of those around him, only for them to dart back to the playground.

It's her. Barely more than a shoulder is visible as she sits at the bottom of a slide, facing away, with her head drooped down, but he knows that it's her.

His heart pounds in his ears as he crosses the street, not knowing if he's approaching the _who_ or the _what_.

Soon, he stands at the edge of the playground, and as he watches her, he feels his hands begin to tremble.

There will be no going back once he lets her know that he's there.

If she's gone bad, it doesn't matter if he's ten yards, or one hundred yards away, she'll run him down and she'll kill him.

Even knowing this, he finds himself hesitantly calling her name, rather than moving closer.

She doesn't respond, and he tries again, louder, and with more authority.

With no excuses to be made, or options to be weighed, he moves closer.

When his ears perk up at the sound of a whimpering girl, his eyes dart around the area, expecting to find that someone who has ventured too close has been left cradling a broken limb, or a dead dog.

After another few cautious steps, he's struck by the realization that the sounds aren't coming from one of her _victims_; they're coming from _her_.

The revelation brings more confusion than concern. "Cameron, why are... Why are you _crying_?"

She sobs that she wants to go home, but that her mother won't even admit to having a daughter.

_His_ mother _doesn't_ have a daughter, so of course she's not going to 'admit' that she has one. That doesn't explain her tears.

"Cameron-"

"My name is Allison," she sobs. "From Palmdale."

"Your name's not Allison. You're not from Palmdale," he states firmly, now standing over her. "Your name is Cameron, and you're from..." he trails off when he sees the fear in her eyes. If she weren't a terminator, he'd think that she was intimidated by him, but even the knowledge that she's a machine doesn't stop him from kneeling, or softening his tone. "My mom's gonna freak if she finds out that you wandered off like this."

"I don't even know you!" she screams.

He recoils, and is momentarily stunned. "It's _me_. It's John."

"John _who_?!"

"John Connor," he says shakily. The look of understanding on her face brings a relieved smile to his. "You remember me?"

Her hand closes around his throat before his brain even registers the movement, and pulls his face to within inches of her own.

As her hold tightens, he struggles weakly, and tries to plead with her, but no words escape.

Her eyes stare into his confusedly, then fall to the hand around his throat, widening in shock at what she's doing.

Tossed away like nothing, he bounces off of the nearby merry-go-round, and lands heavily beside it.

Spinning lazily from the collision, the carousel squeaks quietly, mocking his struggle to lift himself up.

With a pounding headache, and a throbbing back, he approaches her, too concerned with his close call and resultant discomfort to notice the look on her face. "Welcome back," he says raspily, not even sure himself if it's relief or sarcasm in his voice.

"What's happening to me?!" she screams, looking down at her slender hands, horrified by the power they somehow possess. "Why would I hurt someone?!"

Second by second, the tissues in his neck and throat swell, making it more and more difficult for him to breathe, forcing him to shout merely to produce a whisper. "You went bad again." When she looks up at him, her pleading eyes nearly make him forget that he still might die if the swelling in his throat doesn't stop soon. "You're a... You used to be... a very... You used to work for someone very bad. I- _we_ -broke its hold over you. But then you got hurt, and some of your old prog- some of your old... _conditioning_ -resurfaced."

His story is absurd, but it's obvious that he knew what she was capable of before she did.

The shock of what has happened starts to wear off, and she begins to cry again. "I'm... _dangerous_?" she sobs, staring at her hands.

He sets his own in them, bringing her eyes to his. "Extremely." It's not what she wants to hear, and she pulls her hands back. "I trust you, Cameron... even if you don't remember your name." As he listens to her sob, and watches tears stream down her cheeks, reason finally leaves him, and he takes her into his arms. "You're okay now. I won't let anything happen to you."

"P-promise?" she whimpers, her face buried in his chest.

The painful reminder of that day makes him hesitate for a moment. "Promise," he answers.

It takes forty-seven minutes of whispering reassurances, gently rubbing her back, and lightly stroking her hair to calm her down.

If not for her subtle movements, he'd be certain that she had fallen asleep in his arms, and if not for her quiet, steady, breathing that he's not used to, he'd ask if she were all right.

"John?" she whispers into his chest. "What am I to you?" She feels his body tense at the question. "Are we... _together_?"

He swallows the lump in his throat. "No... nothing like that. But I... I care. About you." She nods against him.

"You love me?" Again, he tenses. "I mean... Cameron?"

It takes him a few seconds to think of a response. "She knows the answer to that."

"I'm sorry. That I'm not her, right now."

"You're still her," he says quietly.

"I'm scared, and I shouldn't be."

"Am I scaring you?" he asks worriedly.

She shakes her head against his chest. "No, I feel safe right now." Her eyes open, and she stares at the T-shirt that's touching her eyelashes. "We do this a lot... don't we?" When he doesn't answer, she nods. "I thought so." She feels him trembling. "What's wrong?"

Even with his voice so hoarse and quiet, she hears the grief in it, and it's painfully obvious to her that the tremors are suppressed sobs. "We, uh... we haven't done this before." He sniffs, and takes an unsteady breath. "You, um..." he trails off, not trusting himself to put it into words.

"I don't feel the same way," she finishes softly. The unmistakeable sound of a lone whimper escapes his lips. "I'm sorry."

"It's... it's not your fault. You're a good soldier, and you... you do your job. You do your job without... caring. Too much."

"But you care," she says against him. "You care about me."

"Too much," whispers, blinking back a few tears. "I care too much."

"You said that we've never done this before... so maybe when I remember who I am, things will be different."

He momentarily loses the struggle against his emotions, resulting in several quiet whimpers before he regains control. "Things are never different." Steadying his breathing, he fights back his feelings. "This isn't the first time that I've brought you back."

"But if you protect me, then-"

"No, you protect me. Because you're... because it's your job. I'm... not supposed to protect you. You'll be..." another whimper interrupts his sentence. "You'll be very upset with me for doing this."

"Why?"

His laughter comes out broken by quiet sobs. "I don't know... Maybe this time, you'll tell me why."

"I'll-" he cuts her off.

"Stop. Please. You can't make promises for someone else, and I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Oh... okay," she says regretfully. "Would you mind... staying like this... a little longer?"

Tightening his embrace, his hand glides over her back reassuringly. "No, I don't mind." His eyes close, and he lightly rests his chin on top of her head. "I don't mind this at all."

With her relaxing in his arms, hours pass beneath his notice.

His eyes open at the sound of his ringing cellphone, and it comes as a surprise that the sun is now low in the sky. He feels her stirring in his arms, but she seems to be asleep.

Careful not to move too suddenly, he reaches down and squeezes the phone through the denim of his jeans, shutting it off, then returns his arm to her.

"That was probably Sarah," she says. "You should let her know that you're okay."

"Sarah?" he asks, slowly pulling back to look at her.

She lifts her head and stares blankly. "Sarah Connor. Your mother."

His brow furrows. "Cameron?"

"Yes."

He looks disbelievingly at his arms, still halfway around her. "H-how long have you been... _you_?"

Her head tilts. "I've always been me."

He frustratedly shakes his head. "You _know_ what I mean."

Straightening slightly, all emotion drains from her face. "One hundred eighty-seven minutes."

"Three _hours_?!" His attempt at a shout emerges as a menacing whisper. "Why?!"

She looks down thoughtfully. "It seemed-"

"Like something you should do," he finishes bitterly.

"...'Right'," she says.

Mistaking her correction for a confirmation, his injured throat turns his snort into a squeak. "Next time that you want something to do, think about what it means to _people_." As he starts to stand, she quickly takes hold of him and pulls him back down, then lifts his chin to expose his badly bruised neck. "I'm fine," he snaps. "Don't worry about it."

"I _am_ worried about it," she says softly, still holding his chin up.

"Well, don't. When mom asks, tell her that I tried to get into a club with a fake ID, and that the bouncer didn't like that. When she asks where you were, just tell her that there were too many people around, and that I wasn't in any real danger." With his head all the way back, and his chin held firmly between her finger and thumb, he sighs impatiently. "Can I have my jaw back, or are you going to keep it for the next 'one hundred eighty-seven minutes'?"

He's startled to feel her lips touch where her thumb had been pinching his carotid artery, then his larynx, then where her fingers had been squeezing against his jugular, before finally placing another light kiss on his larynx. "Does that make it feel better?" she asks, releasing her hold on him.

He falls back, clutching his throat as though she has tried to kill him again, except his heart is beating even faster. "Why did you do that?" he demands. "Was it just something else that you thought you should do?"

"You love me, John, and I want to love you," she answers quietly. Her eyes fall to her right hand, then turn to the matching bruise on his neck. "I'm not sure that I know how."

After processing her words, he slowly rises to his feet, staring uncertainly at her. When the pain in his neck reminds him that he can't be dreaming, he holds out his hand to help her up. "Whatever you figure out... you let me know, okay?"

She takes his hand, but stands on her own. "I prefer you to be happy."

"What?"

"Machines can't be happy, but I prefer it when you are. I also prefer being close to you. The closer the better." He stares silently, unsure of what to say. "No definition of love fits, but those are the closest."

After several seconds, he looks dejectedly at the ground. "You mean that it would make your mission easier if you could keep me close to you."

"My mission requires that you to live, not that you want to." She places her hand on his cheek, and turns his face toward her own. "I would like you to want to."

Watching him as he searches her eyes, she doesn't think that he'll find what he's looking for, or what she hopes he'll see.

Slowly, she leans closer, bringing her lips to his, making him forget about everything else as she feathers his lips with her teeth, and a gentle suction.

Time stands still for them, as they experience a real, meaningful, kiss for the very first time.

As it comes to an end, he takes her lip between his teeth, tugging playfully before releasing it. "Did you feel that?" he asks hopefully.

She gently strokes the side of his face, gazing unblinkingly into his eyes. "I have sensation; I feel. I wouldn't be very good at this if I couldn't feel."

Laughing quietly, he rests his forehead against hers, looking down at the lips that he's just tasted. "I want this to last forever... but I'm-"

"You've had a long day; you're exhausted," she finishes, still running her hand over his cheek. "Let's go home."

It's nearly two in the morning before the hours long shouting match between himself and his family is through, and it's just after four by the time that he's had his first meal since the previous morning, and finished washing away the day's sweat and dirt.

Finally able to rest, he lays staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The thought of losing Cameron, the state in which he found her, holding her in his arms, their first kiss, and the scripted argument with his mother and uncle to cover it up, all leave his emotions running too high for him to sleep.

Giving up on sleep, he starts to sit up, only for a slender hand to gently push him back down. "Cameron?" he whispers surprisedly. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I thought that you'd fall asleep soon," she says quietly. "You need to rest." She watches him for several seconds, then looks at the doorway. As she turns her eyes back on him, her head tilts to one side. "Do you mind if I stay here tonight?"

"Wha-? Yeah. I mean sure. I'd like that."

She surprises him by laying down beside him, on top of the covers. Seemingly satisfied, she stares quietly at the ceiling with him. Finally, she breaks the silence. "John... am I your girlfriend now?"

Her question makes him doubt that their kiss meant as much to her as it did to him. Rolling onto his side, he stares fearfully into the darkness that conceals her from him. "I hope so," he whispers.

The fabric of the pillowcase sings as her head turns to face him. "Your only one?"

His mind takes several seconds to come up with a reason for her to have to ask. "The only one," he states with with finality.

When she doesn't say anything he turns onto his back and closes his eyes, trying to relax next to her. "Are you afraid that I'll go bad again?"

"No," he answers without hesitation. It would have been a shout if not for his throat. "But I _am_ worried about _you_. That... your glitch will happen again."

"It won't," she says too quickly. "It _shouldn't_," she amends. "It shouldn't have happened at all." Her mood lightens noticeably. "But I'm glad it did."

He quietly replies, "I'm not. It doesn't make me happy to see bad things happen to you."

"If bad things didn't happen, I wouldn't be here." As he tries to decipher her exact meaning, she slips her arm under his shoulders, and effortlessly repositions him until his head rests on her chest. "I'll still be here when you wake up," she assures him. "Sleep now."

He pulls his arm from under the covers and wraps it tightly around her. "I'm sorry for how I've treated you," he whispers.

"It's okay. Everything's better now. Everything's perfect."

Her gentleness soothes him, while the firmness reminds him of her strength. His eyes close, and he soon drifts off to sleep, comforted by the knowledge that she will always protect him, always be with him, and that there will always be a place where even he can feel safe.


	7. Kissing Cousins

**Kissing Cousins**

-Saturday, August 2nd, 2008-

From the inside of a black Nissan 370Z, John looks up at the two story house, one of at least twenty such examples on this street. "Are you sure that this is the right one?" he asks skeptically.

"Yes," she answers without looking up from her Mini SA58- a modernized 7.62x51mm carbine built on an FN FAL receiver.

He smiles faintly as he looks over at her. "You're probably the only person who's ever worn designer clothing to a firefight by choice."

She turns her eyes on him. "You're wearing a $1200 jacket."

"It's not my money," he says with a grin.

"It's not mine either," she deadpans, smiling brightly when it makes him laugh.

A ground floor window explodes as gunfire and shouting comes from within the home. "Shit!," he yells, closing his hand around his HK416. "It's here!"

By the time he climbs out of the car and reaches the path to the front entrance of the house, Cameron has already smashed down the door.

He curses his slow and weak human body as he watches her disappear into the building, and listens to her open fire on an unseen enemy.

When he finally reaches the doorway, he finds the bullet riddled body of a man only a couple of years older than he is. Obviously, the target of the gunfire and the source of the shouting they heard.

Cutting a wide circle around a corner, he sees Cameron embedded in the remains of an obliterated grand piano, and fires his diminutive 5.56mm rounds into the cranium of her T-888 attacker.

The tungsten core M995 rounds make narrow and shallow holes, but are unable to penetrate deeply enough into the machine's armored endoskull to reach any of its electronics, let alone its chip.

As the machine whirls around, Cameron fires the last few rounds from her OSA 58 into the back of its neck.

The T-888 collapses to the floor, its arms and legs twitching as they receive broken, error ridden commands, which its CPU has based on fragmented information transmitted to it through its damaged spinal connection.

Cameron's voice is uneven, changing randomly in pitch and volume. "I'm shutting down." She looks at the fallen T-888. "Go. I'm more advanced; I'll reboot first," she assures him.

Trusting her, he sprints up the stairs in search of his objective. Spotting only one closed door, he kicks it in, and steps through with his carbine raised.

As he scans the master bedroom, he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and uses the metal Picatinny rails on the foregrip of his rifle to deflect a blow from a baseball bat, then pushes the receiver against his assailant's chest, pinning the young woman to the wall. "What's your name?!" he demands. "Are you _Claire_?!" She knees him in the groin, but after a fraction of a second overwhelmed with pain, he regains full control of himself.

He kicks the inside of her left leg, causing it to give out, dropping her onto her knees, then kneels in front of her, pressing his rifle hard against her throat, leaving her too busy fighting suffocation to fight him.

Sobbing and gasping for air, she starts trying to choke out the combination to their safe.

"Some very bad people have mistaken your daughter for someone else," he growls, not at all coming across as friendly. "I'm here to stop them."

He pulls his rifle from her struggling hands, and takes several steps back. "Come with me if you want Allison to live." The girl's mother stares up at him in terror as she clutches her throat and catches her breath. She's wasting time, and there isn't any to waste. "Right now! Now, now, now! Get the fuck on your feet!" She winces at every word, but forces herself to stand unsteadily, for fear of what he'll do if she doesn't.

"Who's _that_?!" she screams, as the closed door to the nursery swings open.

He looks up expecting Cameron, but the damaged triple-eight is what he sees. The machine's programming has adapted to the damage sooner than predicted, restoring much of its functionality.

"No!" is all that comes out as he releases his rifle, letting it hang from its sling, and throws his arms around the young mother, trying to shield her with his body, while forcing her toward the other door.

The machine unleashes a torrent of .45 ACP hollow points from its MAC-10 at the two humans.

John feels several rounds slam into his right side, and nearly falls over from the sudden pain.

He gives her a hard shove toward the doorway, then turns to face the machine and its empty machine pistol, only to be struck hard, and knocked to the floor.

As he dazedly lifts himself onto his hands and knees, he becomes aware that he no longer has his weapon only a split second before hearing it discharge.

Cameron is standing over him, firing his rifle into the triple-eight's throat, further damaging its already compromised circuitry, leaving it barely abot to stand in place.

With John still stunned from her chassis impacting him at high speed, she roughly flips him onto his back, rifling through his clothing until she finds another STANAG magazine.

After calmly loading the weapon, she walks over to the machine and kicks it into the middle of the next room, toppling the cradle, and spilling plush animals across the floor.

Without a word, she places her right foot on the twitching, nearly unresponsive machine's face, and turns its head to expose its CPU port, then fires a burst into it, obliterating the chip beneath.

Satisfied that the machine is dead, she frowns down at her boot. The superheated gas exiting through holes in the weapon's flash suppressor has scorched the leather, ruining her footwear.

She walks back over to her charge, and carefully helps him onto his feet.

"Are you all right?" John asks concernedly, while clutching his side.

"My shirt and boots are ruined." A sense of failure and helplessness comes over her as she notices the blood soaking into his right pantleg. "You've been shot."

"Yeah," he groans, "but I'm fine." He feels her hand slide under his Kevlar vest, and grits his teeth as she probes the shallow wounds with her fingers. He grabs the sides of his vest and pulls, separating the Velcro holding its two halves together, and pushes the front half into her chest. "Just check this!"

Having trouble breathing with the amount of pain that he's in, he staggers toward the doorway, ignoring the thud made by the rear half of the vest falling from beneath his ruined jacket, and looks out into the hallway. His throat tightens at the sight of Claire's prostrate body, and her eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

"None of the bullets went through," Cameron says almost cheerfully as she arrives behind him. Realizing what he's looking at, she sets her hand on his shoulder, and lowers her voice. "I'm sorry. I miscal-"

"This isn't your fault," he says quickly. "It's mine. None of this would have happened in the future." He takes his hand from his wounded side and looks at the blood on it. "I've gotten weak. And I've started _following_ again."

He shakes his head at his failures. It seems like he's screwed up more in one day than during the years he spent in the future.

No one would have died if they had used force to move the entire family somewhere safe, then worried about the machine.

Maybe Allison would still have parents if he hadn't sat in the car, joking about how he and Cameron were dressed, and Allison would certainly have a mother if he had destroyed the T-888 when he had the chance.

Cameron doesn't know what to say to him right now, but he understands that, and doesn't mistake her confused silence for indifference. "I'll go get her," she says softly.

"Don't bother," he tells her as she starts toward the nursery. Wiping the blood from his hand onto his pants, he turns to see her staring at him with a faint look of worry. "She's not in there." He walks over to the closet and pulls open the door, allowing Cameron to hear muffled cries.

She watches as he moves clothing and blankets, and the cries become louder until he slowly stands and turns around with Allison cradled in his arms.

Cameron doesn't like John being with other people, and she doesn't like him smiling at them the way that he's smiling at Allison, but this is different somehow.

Even though this Allison is here right now, she feels no more threatened by her than the one she killed, or the one John left behind in the future.

"She's so tiny," he whispers, despite Allison's screaming and bawling.

Using Allison's dimensions, Cameron calculates her current mass. "She's 7.275 pounds. That's healthy for eleven days old," she explains.

After a moment passes and he merely stares in awe at the baby girl, Cameron puts her arm around his shoulders and gently guides him toward the door.

-Wednesday, August 6th, 2008-

Waking after a well-earned night's rest, John smiles sleepily at the quiet hiss of fabric on skin nearby. "Mm, I should've woken sooner."

The bed bounces as Cameron drops herself into a sitting position on it. "I don't like this."

"Not again," he groans.

"I look ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," he assures her.

"John?" He groans in acknowledgment. "Your eyes are still closed."

"My eyes are still _tired_. We can't all be cyborgs." He grits his teeth against an unexpected cramp in his calf. "Unfortunately..."

"Are you all right?" she asks worriedly. As he nods and cracks open his eyes, the sight of her turns his smile into a grin. "I look funny," she concludes.

Her chocolate locks spill from her shoulders onto her front as she looks down at her turquoise blouse, and the sharp outward bulge over her midsection.

"You don't look funny," he says with a warm smile. When she looks at him without meeting his eyes, his smile fades, and he turns away from her, hiding the scars from a world that he hadn't been ready to see. "We need to get some pictures of you like this."

She leans over the crib next to the bed, looking down at the blue eyed baby girl, whose bald head is covered by a knitted hat. "She's going to know that I'm not her mother." Her fingers poke the heavy latex abdomen beneath her maternity clothing. "This prosthesis doesn't change anything."

He sits up and slides over to her side, smiling at their 'daughter'. "Kids trust adults to tell them the truth. If we tell her that we're her parents, then she'll believe us, no matter what happens."

She looks at him sadly. "You don't like it when I lie to you. Even when you know it's the right thing to do."

"That's different."

"Yes... because now you're in my position."

His thoughts of curiosity, smiling eyes, and first words suddenly shift to ones of confusion, hateful glares, and angry screams. "Do you think that lying to her is the wrong decision?"

Her protracted silence serves to feed his growing self-doubt. "No," she says at last. "Someday, she'll figure out what I am," she warns.

He smiles at her as she carefully checks the bandages on his right side. "You're right, but knowing that you're a cyborg doesn't mean that she has to know you didn't give birth to her."

She frowns as she looks from him to Allison. "Unless she's stupid, she'll know that machines don't have internal organs."

"Trust me," he says, "evidence and common sense won't matter... she'll choose to believe what her mother and father have told her." He kisses Cameron's cheek, making her smile faintly. "That's the real difference between man and machine: _we_ can be dumb _whenever_ we so choose." He looks down his nose snootily at her, brightening her smile more with his compliment than his humor.

"Will this make you happy?" she asks quietly.

His own smile vanishes. "_You_ make me happy," he says sincerely, then looks down at the sleeping baby girl. "Would you just be tolerating her?" His eyes meet hers, studying her closely for any outward sign of deception. "Be honest. Don't wait until she's calling us mommy and daddy to say that you don't want her."

Cameron looks thoughtfully at the newest addition to their already complicated lives. "She _is_ tiny," she states. Clearly confused, she turns to John, then continues slowly and uncertainly. "Someone... should protect her."

"Someone like you?" he asks nervously, trying not to sound hopeful.

She watches him for a moment, as though it were the first mention of her playing the role of Allison's mother. "No, not 'someone like me'." He's only been caring for the little girl for four days, but John's stomach drops at the thought of losing her. "There aren't any others like _me_," she says.

Her head tilts subtly as she watches him start gasping for air, but her perplexity falls by the wayside when his arms wrap tightly around her and his lips gently touch her forehead.

"You'll make a great mom," he whispers in her ear.

Pulling back, she holds him away from herself and looks at him suspiciously. "How do you know?"

Smiling lovingly, he brushes her hair from her face. "Because you have the answers to more questions than she could ever ask, you're infinitely patient, and even more importantly..." With her hands holding him back, he lunges, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose. "...you don't sleep."

Her brow furrows. "Those things will make me a good mother?"

He glances briefly at Allison. "Well... they're things that every parent would envy. And who knows," he says with a shrug, "with you looking over my shoulder all the time, I might turn out to be a halfway decent dad." She turns away from him, convinced that he's using humor to conceal his doubts about her. "Cameron, look at me," he says softly, bringing her eyes back to his. "No, I mean look at _me_." He holds his arms out to his sides. "I shouldn't be alive, but you keep protecting me, patching me up, making me happy. That's all _you_, Cameron." She smiles at him, enjoying more of his praise. "_Can_ you feel as strongly for her as you do for me?"

As she considers that her boots had meant more to her than the entire Young family, it dawns on her that after four days of Allison burping and spitting up onto her shirts, she feels as attached to her as she had her boots. "I don't know," she says honestly. "But... I want to try."

John carefully lifts Allison into his arms, and holds her near Cameron. Although he knows how cruel it would be for Allison to be raised by a mother who doesn't really love her, he doesn't want to give her up. "Okay," he whispers. Looking up, he's surprised to see Cameron smiling faintly as she watches Allison fidget in her sleep.

"This will bring us closer together," she states.

"Yeah... Yeah, she will."

"Then this is good," she says quietly. Leaning over Allison, she kisses him softly. After a long moment, she breaks their kiss and rests her head on his shoulder, smiling down at their daughter. "I like this."

He beams at the sight of Cameron's smile reflected on the bedroom window, and wishes not for the first time that he had her eidetic memory. "Everything's perfect," he whispers.

"What will your mother say?"

"I don't know... but we have eight months to figure out how to handle that." Looking at Allison, he pictures his mother inside ZeiraCorp, alone in the damaged building after his departure. "When I pick her up in a minivan full of Huggies and teddy bears... maybe she'll just be relieved that I'm back."

"That doesn't sound like your mother," Cameron points out.

He chuckles. "You're right, it doesn't." His eyes find their reflection on the window pane, and the profundity of that snapshot of a loving couple and their daughter becomes clear to him.

He's not looking at the perfect family, he's looking at _his_ perfect family.

That father is John Connor, the once and future leader of mankind.

That mother is his protector, and the cyborg he loves, based on the future appearance of the baby girl in his arms.

Allison- _their_ Allison -is the past self of the young woman whom he'd met in the future, and went on to share a short-lived romantic relationship with.

As twisted as it all is, it's no less perfect, and without their warped history, this moment would never have been possible.

"That _doesn't_ sound like my mom," he says suddenly. "But... seeing us like this? Being told that she's part of it?" He looks at Allison, cradled in his arms. "That this is her _granddaughter_? We're going to make her happier than she's been in... in a very long time."

Allison stretches her arms and legs when she finally wakes, only to relax contentedly into John's warm embrace, as a bottle of formula, prepared before either human awoke, is brought to her lips by Cameron.


End file.
